In Memoriam
by cactusnell
Summary: Molly loses something precious, but gains something more. Don't worry, I haven't killed off any main characters, but I hope you're not too attached to Molly's cat! Sherlolly


It was a dark and stormy night. The perfect setting for some sorrowful tale to be told, thought Molly Hooper as she splashed her way dejectedly through the streets of London, heading for Baker Street. She didn't really know what she expected to find, she just knew she needed to be there. She _wanted_ to find a warm fire, which was highly probable giving the conditions outside. But she also wanted a warm hug from a decidedly hot detective, which was more problematic. Molly was barely holding her tears at bay as she walked through the rain. She could probably just let loose and allow her tears to mix with the downpour around her. No one would notice, after all. Not that there was anyone to notice on the street at this late hour. But she held herself together, waiting for the moment she could let herself go. She needed to be with a friend, and Sherlock Holmes was the best one she had.

Sherlock stood poking at the fireplace, nursing the flames into a bright glow. The fire did much to relieve the damp chill provided by the weather outside. Despite the relatively late hour, it was a bit after eleven, Mrs. Hudson was still up and about and puttering around in his kitchen, no doubt looking for uncontaminated vessels for the tea she was making. The cold and damp played havoc with her arthritic hip, and a nice cuppa always enhanced the effects of her herbal soothers. Sherlock had no idea why she had decided to visit him, but was never one to turn down a freshly brewed pot of tea. He just hoped she would nip downstairs soon for some biscuits, as the only ones to be found in his kitchen were not fit to be eaten. He was pleasantly ruminating about fresh biscuits when he heard the front door open downstairs. It could only be one of three possibilities. John, which was highly unlikely since he was not foolish to bring little Rosie out this late on such a terrible night. Molly, also unlikely to be cruising the streets of the capital at this hour, or some unknown assassin with a talent for lock picking. It could be Mycroft, though. He hadn't given his brother a key, but Mycroft had his own methods. All in all, he would prefer the assassin to his brother. And, although he may be reluctant to admit it, he would prefer Molly Hooper to all other alternatives. At the sound of a light footstep on the stairs, he knew he had gotten his wish.

Molly entered through the open doorway slowly, not expecting to find so much activity. Mrs. Hudson was the first to acknowledge her presence. "Molly, dear, you look like a drowned rat! Whatever possessed you to come out on a night like this?" The older woman tutted and fretted over her, making her way to the linen closet to retrieve a towel. When Sherlock finally looked at her he could see far beyond the water dripping from her chin and her hair and puddling on his carpet. He saw the potential moisture in her eyes and the slump in her shoulders. Without another thought he crossed the room to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. "Tell me," he said softly.

Molly, taken off guard by his gentleness, and overjoyed in her moment of sadness to have received the warm hug she so craved, felt all her strength of spirit leave her as a single sob burst from her chest. "It's Toby. He's gone," was all she got out before she lost herself in his warmth.

Sherlock took the towel from Mrs. H and, started blotting at Molly's dripping hair while still holding her close. She sobbed for quite a while as he continued his efforts to dry. But given the fact that she was clutching at him so desperately, he only succeeded in getting himself wetter. He found he didn't mind at all. All the while his landlady was hovering, tutting sympathetically, in the background.

The sobbing had finally given to an occasional sniff, but Molly was still reluctant to leave the warm cocoon in which she was contained. "Molly," Sherlock spoke softly, cajolingly, "Maybe we should visit an animal shelter and find you a new companion." To his surprise, this brought about a return to the sobbing. "Oh, Sherlock, you really aren't good at this sentiment thing, are you? I loved Toby. He was part of my life for so many years," the pathologist managed to get out between sniffs and sobs. "Toby was more than just a cat. He can't be replaced so easily as that!"

"That's true, of course. And I am trying with this whole sentiment thing, as you call it. It comes a lot more easily since my memories of my childhood have been recovered. I understand affection, love, a lot more now." The woman in his embrace quieted a bit as he spoke. " And I certainly didn't mean to denigrate your love for your companion. I just believe that you have such a loving, caring, and nurturing nature, that it would be a shame to let that go to waste." He pulled away just enough to look her in the eye. "Perhaps you should move on to something different. Something which would require a bit more care, attention, and devotion?"

"No, Sherlock, I've never really wanted that…"

"But, surely, you and Meat Dagger had…"

"That was all Meat Dag…, Tom's, idea, Sherlock. It was something he always wanted. I wasn't really enthusiastic about the idea, but we were engaged, after all, and would soon be living together. I wouldn't have agreed to the idea if we hadn't promised to take equal responsibility…"

"What makes you think I would leave you to your own devices, Molly? I would certainly commit to the project as much as Meat Dagger."

"Sherlock, it's quite a bit of responsibility, you know. My flat is very small, with no outdoor space. And there's the training involved. And the inoculations. And what if it bit one of the neighbors?"

"Perhaps they wouldn't inherit my anti-social tendencies. They could wind up as friendly and people pleasing as you!"

"Speaking of inheriting, how would we be sure that there is no abnormalities in the family history…"

"Let's not be insulting, Molly!"

"How is that insulting? Anyway, as I said, my flat is awfully small and…"

"This place is plenty large, Molly. I said I would be committed, and I meant it! You would, of course, move in here. There's a large garden outback for fresh air and exercise…"

"If we could keep them from peeing on Mrs. Hudson's rose bushes!" Molly giggled a bit as she said this.

"Rose bushes be damned, Molly. They would surely be intelligent enough to avoid those bushes after a few run ins with the thorns. And, going back to the flat. There's more than enough room, and plenty more if we need to expand upstairs."

"Really, Sherlock, there's really no need to expand. They won't need a room of their own, after all."

"Well, they won't be sleeping with us every night, Molly."

Molly ignored his assumption that they would be sleeping together, as they often did when he used her flat as his bolthole. "Oh, Sherlock, I don't know if I can commit to something else. It broke my heart to lose Toby."

"You still haven't explained what happened to the poor thing, Molly. Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was terrible. I feel so guilty. I've been working double shifts for the past few days, leaving him alone for long periods of time. When I got home tonight, he was just lying in his bed, barely moving. He sounded so pitiful when I petted him, Sherlock." This statement brought on a fresh bout of tears. "I took him to the emergency vet office immediately, but they couldn't do anything for him. His kidneys had failed, and he was near death. I had to put him down to spare him any more pain." She sniffed, and looked up at him. "But all I could think of was how long he had suffered already while I was at work. Oh my god, I feel horrible about it!"

The tall man wrapped her further in his arms. "There's nothing you could have done differently, Molly. You have no reason to feel guilty. He had all his shots. He was well fed, and well looked after. It was simply old age. It comes to us all."

"But there are so many diseases out there, Sherlock. And conditions. Anything could happen."

"That's why you inoculate for everything you can, and hope for the best. You did your job. You certainly exercised due care, Molly."

"And think how inconvenient it would be. There are some places that simply won't allow them. Travel could be a problem. And, if we had to go away for an extended period, who would care for them, Sherlock?"

"There's always Mrs. Hudson. She's right downstairs, after all. And my parents, too. I'm sure a nice dose of green grass and fresh country air would be just wonderful for them!" Sherlock them pulled what he assumed may well be his trump card. "And they would be a wonderful companion for Rosie. I'd hate to see her grow up a lonely, only child. Although, given my experience with Eurus, that may not be as bad as it would seem."

Mrs. Hudson finally interrupted their conversation with a gentle throat clearing, saying, "Tea's ready, dear. Why don't you sit down and have a have hot cuppa? I'll just run downstairs and fetch some fresh biscuits. Sherlock's seem to have passed their expiration date."

"So has Molly's cat, it would seem," the man couldn't resist saying, which earned him a sharp jab in the ribs from the small woman.

They made themselves comfortable on the couch. Molly poured tea for herself, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson. For the older woman had left a third mug on the coffee table as a hint. Mrs. H soon made her reappearance, with a plate of assorted small treats. "I must say, I got the gist of your conversation, but it did seem a bit confusing. My brain must be addled from my herbal soothers, I suppose. But, for the life of me, I couldn't figure out whether you were talking about adopting a dog or having a baby!"

Sherlock blinked once, and went into stand-by mode as he reviewed every element of their talk.

Molly froze in place, her mug of tea halfway to her mouth.

Mrs. Hudson continued, "You know I'm always happy to help out. But, surely I remember that your father is allergic to dogs, Sherlock. That should rule out any visits to the country, I guess." Her, she paused to wink at the both of them. "Unless we're not talking about a dog, of course. I doubt very much that your father would be allergic to grandchildren!"

"I hardly think so. Especially as they are not likely to develop mange." He scratched his head, ruffling his hair as if imagining a terrible scalp condition.

"Sherlock, are you sure about this? You want a child?"

"Only if it's yours, too, my love. I promise to walk it, feed it, and clean up after it, but I refuse to have it spayed or neutered!" He smiled at her over his mug, and she felt her heart melt. She may have lost Toby, but it seemed that she was about to acquire something much better. Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat once again, then announced that she was taking her leave to allow them to discuss the finer points of their plans for the future,

As soon as she had gone, Sherlock moved a bit closer to his pathologist. "Molly, there's just one more thing…"

"I hope you're about to tell me how much you love me, Sherlock," she spoke with more patience than she was feeling.

"I'll tell you that as often as you like, my love, if we settle just one thing first."

"And just what is that, Sherlock?"

"Can we get a dog, too?" And with that the detective started on a very serious campaign of persuasion.


End file.
